


Goodbye Blue Sky

by OngoingCrisis



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Mirror Sex, Secret Relationship, Shameless Smut, Smut, Switch Spencer Reid, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25944862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OngoingCrisis/pseuds/OngoingCrisis
Summary: A dash of the relationship Spencer's been hiding from the team, a teaspoon of jackass co-workers, a heaped cup of an explosives-happy unsub and a whole lot of hotel room fun.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s), Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 7
Kudos: 128





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was my entry for Imagining In The Margins' secret fic swap! I was given April (writing-in-april on Tumblr), and this is the madness that fell out of the gremlin when she was typing at 90mph.

“Foster!” Walker bellowed into the deserted bullpen. I sighed.

“I’m behind you,” I didn’t tack on the ‘asshole’ to the end, but I did my level best to convey it in screaming body language.

He jumped a foot into the air and about-faced, glancing me up and down in that persistently creepy way that was trademark Walker.

“Why didn’t you just say?” he snapped, as if his communication challenges were my fault. I sipped my coffee instead, raising an eyebrow expectantly. “You’re going upstairs today.”

“Why me?” I asked, bluntly. Mo poked her head around the corner with a frown, and I wilted. The order was from her, rather than her aggravating lieutenant, and I had no grounds to challenge my boss.

“Step inside here,” Mo drawled, and I obeyed, shutting the door in Walker’s face as he tried to follow.

“Did you have to hire such an asshole?” I asked, loud enough for Walker to hear. She hid her grin in her coffee mug as I sat on the edge of her desk.

“The rest of you aren’t making his life easy.”

“His first day here,” I protested, “he bellowed at Chase for sitting with her legs crossed, and at Kev for having his hands in his pockets.”

“To which you responded by setting off a recording of Taps at three AM in the rack room.” Mo retorted.

“Yeah, I did,” I grinned. “If he wants to behave like a drill sergeant with a rod up his ass in a professional office, he can have the associated atmosphere.”

“A touch childish,” she cautioned.

“Mo, we have a great team,” I said, desperately. “We’re the best in the business, and if he’s just Pelli’s maternity replacement, fine. But you can’t deny that he is a constant pain in everyone’s ass. He’s not even making us better at our jobs, he’s just running pointless audits on our paper clip usage.”

“You used an entire crate to see who could make the longest workable fuse.”

“A role-relevant team training experience,” I shot back. Mo had been my boss for a long time. She’d had as much of Walker as the rest of us, and she wouldn’t say squat to me.

“Pelli’s coming back next month,” she said, and I exaggerated an erupting silent cheer, “and then Walker will go back to a field office. In the meantime, I’ve loaned you out to the BAU.”

“Why?” I asked, suspiciously. “They fly out to wherever their cases are. Can’t they use a local bomb tech?”

“Sure. But they asked for an expert for this case, and I need to ensure that you and Walker don’t kill each other so it’s a win-win. Go upstairs for a while, then your time with Walker will be shorter. Maybe he’ll even be gone by the time you get back.” It was flawless logic, and I sighed. “Besides, flitting around on that fancy jet beats our disposal rigs any day of the damn week.”

“Fine,” I groaned. “I’ll see you when I’m back.” I opened her door with a little more force than necessary, ‘accidentally’ colliding with Walker on the other side. He gave me a nasty look, and I shrugged it off. Jackass gonna jackass.

Kev wilted as soon as I reached for the go bag under my desk. “I can’t believe you’re leaving me alone with that asshole.”

“Mo didn’t give me a choice,” I replied, unzipping my kit bag and checking I had a complete set of tools. “I think she picked me as the more homicidal of the two of us, and tried to give Walker the best chance of survival.”

Kev rested his forehead on the desk. “I think he might actually push me over the edge.”

“Chin up,” I said cheerfully, smacking his shoulder and slinging my go bag over my back. “Only thirty more days.”

His goodbye was a pained groan as I split, diving into the lift before Walker could corner me again.

*

The BAU bullpen was empty as I stepped out of the lift - in fact, it was weirdly quiet. I poked my head into the nearest open office, to find it, and the following three deserted.

“Mo, if this is your idea of a joke,” I warned her voicemail, and then clicked off the call as a blonde woman rounded the corner.

“Hi,” she said, surprised at the present company. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m Callie Foster,” I said, sticking out a hand. “EOD.”

“Oh,” she gasped, and then blanched, “they headed down to the plane. About ten minutes ago?”

“Did they want me to stay here and consult?” I asked, bewildered.

“No, they said you were meeting them airside.” I shook my head and she scrabbled for her phone. “Go, I’ll let them know you’re coming. Go!”

I took off at a flat-out run. Time, tide, and Quantico’s rigidly inflexible takeoff slots waited for no man.

*

The blistering white livery of the call jet was still mercifully on the tarmac when I burst through into the departure office, but I could hear the sound of engines warming as I flashed my creds at the agent manning the desk and bowled past him, out the door and up the aircraft steps.

I caught my breath as I ducked through the door.

“Not bad,” a man nodded, flicking up his watch to check my time. “Hey baby girl - she made it onboard. I’ll call you when we land.”

“Mo didn’t say that I was meeting you on the airstrip,” I explained, still out of puff. I tried to sit down as gracefully as I could manage after six flights of stairs, and flickered over the remaining occupants of the plane. Most faces I knew in passing - holding the door open for them when moving around Quantico, sharing hellos in the elevator or exchanging greetings in the chow hall.

I flickered over the last occupant without making eye contact, and returned my attention to the boss, Hotchner, who was apologising for the mixup.

“...you’re here now.” He pointed at each member of the cabin, and identified them by surname, as I offered a robotic nod to each one. “Reid, can you fill her in?”

Reid seemed happy to oblige, dropping into the spare seat facing me, and pushing a paper file towards me. Our hands brushed as I took the file from him, and I watched through hooded lids as his eyes flickered to me, and then dropped back to the paperwork on the deck. I ignored him, picking up the file and flipping it open to an image of a particularly vile looking IED with a complex detonation index mapping. I pulled my tablet from my bag, and started flicking through my archive for a similar device as Reid began to fill me in on the circumstances of the case.

“It’s more Chechnyan,” I corrected, as he explained the team’s hypothesis that the device was designed using a technique commonly found in Iraqi bombmakers, and they all blinked up at me. I held up the image, and pointed at the secondary detonator hidden on the underside of the blast package that none of them had circled. ‘The wiring is something you’d see in an Iraqi roadside IED, yes, but not that second detonator. It’s a post-disposal fuse. You’d sink the device against a hard surface, with the primary detonator pointing upwards. Easy to isolate, easy to render safe - or so your EOD thinks. The secondary detonator, the more unstable one, is primed so that when the device is lifted up, it detonates.” I blinked at the cabin, who were all honed in on me. “I’ve never seen an Iraqi device with a shaped secondary det.”

My little outburst had put the cat amongst the pigeons, as they flicked open tablets, files, and started muttering to one another.

“Are you sure?” Morgan asked loudly. I met his challenge with a nod.

“Iraqi-style IEDs don’t have a huge number of absolutely unique signatures, but by design, they borrow heavily from Soviet style devices.” I explained, pointing to the wiring. “It’s really hard to definitively identify an Iraqi device, without eliminating other variables first,” I glanced back at Hotchner. “My opinion? This is a Chechnyan-influenced IED, and I’d date the design mid-nineties.”

“What, it was built then?” Blake seemed confused, and I clarified.

“No, the chemical explosive would degrade if it was that old. The design is early to mid-nineties,” I held up a different image, with the same pattern of wiring. “Bomb making follows trends like fashion, or…” I glanced at Reid’s mop “-hairstyles. Say you learned to make a device in the nineties, and then didn’t keep up with the trend - so to speak - then it would be like someone walking down the street in double denim and frosted tips. You could tell the rough timeline that your bombmaker learned to make IEDs, and the timeline when he stopped.”

“Are you able to narrow the timeframe any further?” Hotchner asked.

I shook my head. “It’s not an exact science.” I didn’t relish the look of disappointment in his face, but it didn’t seem to be directed at me. I sat back as the team began to confer, dropping my head to look out of the window at the rolling farmland below. I didn’t even know where we were going.

“Idaho,” Reid answered, before I could ask.

“Land of potatoes and IEDs,” I quipped, glancing over at him.

“That was impressive,” he said, glancing over the image of the first device again.

“I’m good at my job,” I answered flatly, without a trace of modesty in the boast.

“Less good at punctuality,” he shot back.

“Shouldn’t you be doing your profiling voodoo?” I replied, “I performed my trained bomb-monkey tricks for you, and gave you your IED history. Now I’m just being taken along to turn the next ones off.”

He switched seats to confer with his team as I leaned my head against the window, flicking through the other images. Nothing jumped out - the bombmaker wasn’t leaving creative signatures, so much as the evidence of rigid teaching. Some bombmakers crafted each device separately, like a piece of independent art, this one looked as though he was following an old knitting pattern with rigid conformity. None of the devices were hugely varied, but they looked like nasty pricks to render safe, and I jotted a few notes on my tablet for proposed stabilisers, and tools for unpicking the detonator mapping.

They seemed engrossed in my theory of Chechnyan origin, and left me to my thoughts for the rest of the flight.

It was dark by the time we landed, and to my absolute relief, the cars sent from the field office to collect us from Boise International turned off into the Best Western, and we decamped into the lobby, collecting our keys from the disinterested concierge.

I snorted as I turned the key over in my hand.

“What?” Morgan jabbed, good-naturedly, “not up to your usual standards?”

I scoffed. “Bomb squad? We’re lucky if they remember to get us a seedy motel. Half the time we wind up sleeping in the cars.” I slung my bag over my shoulder and approached Hotchner.

“Hey...sir,” I remembered, in uncharacteristic deference to his ranking as Unit Chief. I’d called Mo a hell of a lot of names over the years, but never ‘ma’am.’ “Do you want me to come with your team to the field office tomorrow, or do you want me to loop in with the local bomb squad?”

He considered this offer, and then shook his head. “With us. We need a workable profile, and our only evidence is the explosive.”

“Surprised you’re not going out there tonight,” I noted quietly.

“He strikes on a schedule,” Hotchner replied reassuringly. “He’s not broken it yet, and he’s not due to set another explosive for 72 hours. Everyone will think better on a night’s sleep.”

I nodded, digesting that information, and turned it around in my head. There was something there, but I couldn’t pinpoint it down to make any sufficient sort of statement, so I wished him goodnight, and headed for the stairs.

The room was utilitarian, but I hadn’t been kidding to Morgan - I usually slept in the car on ops. A soft bed was calling my name as I clicked the bathroom light off...but so was the door.

Two short knocks, soft and muffled.

I hid the smile beneath a bitten lip, and pulled the door open, and the intruder inside.

“Did you set this up?” I whispered.

“Set what up?” Spencer replied in a normal tone. “It’s okay, the rest of us are three floors up. You were a late addition to the party, so your room was whatever they had left.”

“This,” I said, gesturing to the room, to my presence on the case, Idaho in general, “- the BAU has never taken a bomb squad operator along on a case before.”

“Well, we don’t often get a case with a serial killer making targeted IEDs without leaving any other evidence behind,” he retorted. “Besides, I thought you’d be glad to get away from that drill squad idiot you almost punched in the elevator the other day.”

“Now I’m certain that you set this up,” I replied, pushing his shoulders back against the wall as his hands came up to squeeze against my waist. A warning. I pushed my hips into his, chancing how far I could take it before his hand snapped from my waist and wrapped around my throat, knocking my head back. I let out a delighted giggle as I rocked against him again, and he took my hands from his chest, gathering them in his fist, and used the leverage to pin me against the wall, taking a step back from our connection.

“What are you doing?” he asked, in a low, dangerous voice. “You think because we’re not at home, the rules don’t apply?”

I tilted my head like a curious puppy, with the light of brattiness colouring an otherwise innocent look.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered, and I considered the command for a second too long. He dragged me forward, knocking me off balance as I fell to my knees, my wrists still gathered in his hand. He slipped his hand up and off my throat, taking a hank of hair and tugging my head backwards.

“You’re forgetting yourself, princess,” he spat. “You think you’re the big one now, coming out on the cases with us, running your smart mouth on the jet - you forget who owns this. Get up.”

This time, I obeyed, struggling upright. His hand dropped from my hair and wrists, and I felt the blood rush to the scalp where the tension had eased, but he barely gave me half a second before he had hooked his leg around my knees and knocked me, face first into the bed. My hands were tugged behind my back, bending uncomfortably against my spine. At first, I reflexively struggled, then relented in his grip as I heard something familiar jangle behind me.

“We don’t have any ropes, Princess, so this will have to do.” I felt him cinch the cuffs into place, squeezing down on my hands with a well placed thumb that drew every nerve ending into a spasm of light. I felt his other hand trace along my wrists, quietly checking that the fit wasn’t pressing on any key nerves.

“Colours and safewords tonight,” he reminded me, and I nodded against the mattress.

Satisfied that I was secure in my head, he dragged me upright again.

“Down.” I didn’t hesitate this time, dropping to the coarse carpet before he’d finished the command. I gazed up at him, mapping out my next play as his fingers unlooped his belt, drawing it out and tossing it over the other side of the bed. I watched with barely concealed enthusiasm as he undid the button and pushed them down just enough to take his cock in hand. It was already half hard from the mere act of pinning me to the bed and I kept my eyes on it as he dragged his fingertips over the soft skin to bring himself up.

He tangled his hand in my hair, pulling me forwards and setting my position. I kept my eyes on his face, wilfully ignoring his hand moving inches away from my face. His face hardened from relaxed, expectant arousal to the commanding, furious face that did me in.

“It’s not going to suck itself,” he growled, his voice heavy with the heady sensation. I exaggerated the feeling by gently shaping my lips to subtly ghost cool air over the damp flesh. “Open your mouth.”

“Ask nicely,” I said. It had exactly the desired effect. He seized my hair and pulled me forward, slipping in on my gasp of excitement, and pushing in as far as I could take.

“You can go deeper than that,” he mocked. _I’ll show you fucking deeper, pretty boy_. I inhaled, and swallowed on his next gentle thrust forward, letting him slide down my throat. He was too big to take fully, particularly at full mast, and the lack of hands was seriously hampering my technique. “Come on. Take it on your own like a good girl,” he taunted, dropping his hand to rest lightly on my head. I whined in frustration, but the vibration of the escaping air made his hips buck forward, and he steadied himself, clinging onto my hair. I heard the soft fuck he uttered, and couldn’t help the smile as I moved my head again, driving my tongue against the frenulum until I could feel his steady breathing hitch, and the choked swallows of his groans. Nothing made me feel more powerful than reducing Spencer Reid to a babbling mess with my mouth, and nothing turned me on more. I shifted my thighs, trying to bring them together for relief, but Spencer had regained control of himself, and he jammed his foot between them, forcing them apart.

“Did I give you permission to do that?” he hissed, and I noted with displeasure the steadiness in his tone.”Up.”

I tried - but without hands and with aching thigh muscles from kneeling, I couldn’t move. He watched me struggle for a moment.

“Ask for help,” he said, sounding almost bored. _I’d show him._ I rocked up, using all of my core strength to get my left foot under me but almost toppled when my right foot wouldn’t comply. Spencer caught me, dragging me upright and reached down to pull on the metal brackets around my wrists.

“When I say ask for help,” he said, enunciating each syllable. “I expect you to ask for my help.”

“If I need help, I’ll let you know,” I replied, and saw the fire flash in his eyes. It was his own fault. He knew exactly how to submit me. If he wanted to play games on the way there, that was up to him.

He reached up and wrapped his hand around my throat again, squeezing until I was tilting my head up, breathing unsteady.

“Still so mouthy,” he murmured, trailing his hand down to my sleep shorts. “Tried filling it up, but that wasn’t good enough for it.” He pushed them down my thighs and I stepped out of them, leaving myself virtually bare but for a t-shirt, and Spencer all but fully dressed. “So needy but so predictable.” In one fluid movement, he took hold of my forearms and used them to toss me onto the bed, face down, with my ass in the air. I could hear him shucking off his clothing beside me, but I kept my eyes away, facing the other side of the room.

It wasn’t until I felt the entire bed slide forward that I squeaked, and bolted upright to see what he was doing. The bed was a hotel standard, with a headboard fixed to the wall, and a freestanding divan on wheels. Spencer was pushing it away from the wall, and I first assumed it was to avoid any sound of our impending session disturbing our neighbours, but realised that it wasn’t when he didn’t stop pushing until the bed was almost up against the desk, facing the long mirror beneath the TV. Startled, my eyes flickered to him, and he noted the trace of excitement in my eyes with amusement.

“I didn’t put you down like that,” he warned, and I grumbled as I turned back onto my stomach, arching my back a little and wriggling my hips to give him a show of my ass. He responded in kind, and I felt his hand connect with the smooth flesh of my thigh in a sharp, punishing sting. I couldn’t help the whimper as he dragged his short nails over the reddened flesh.

“Can’t help behaving like a wanton little slut, can you?” His voice was back to the sultry hiss, as he fisted a handful of hair and pulled me up to look at him. “Answer me.”

I kept my lip resolutely bitten. If he wanted the satisfaction, he’d have to take it.

“Look at you,” he mocked, using his knee to push my thighs apart. “All mouth. But we both know the second I put it in you, you’ll roll over like a mewling kitten and take it.”

“Do it already,” I challenged, my voice muffled by the comforter. “Or are you all mou…” my voice broke off into a groan as he pushed his fingers down and inside me. The slight sting of the sudden intrusion made me twitch, and I squeezed down on them. He didn’t give me the satisfaction, withdrawing almost immediately, and pulling me up again until he was behind me, and I was resting back on his chest, between his legs.

Facing the mirror.

He hooked his knees under mine, drawing them apart until I was draped over him, with his hand wrapped around my throat, the other trailing down my abdomen to hover over my groin, not touching, but enough to feel the warmth over the flushed skin. He squeezed my throat, the pads of his fingers applying pressure on the sides of my neck until I began to feel the traces of lightheadedness. I let out a choked gulp, rocking my head back against his shoulder.

“Uh-uh,” he said, knocking my head back down with a shrug of his shoulder until it fell back into the squeeze of his hand. “You’re going to watch this. You can choose which part you watch, but your eyes need to stay open.” His fingertips trailed closer, and he bent his head to nip against my earlobe, before sucking a bruising bite into the nape of my neck. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I gasped, as his fingers dipped inside me, his thumb coming up to press against my clit. I shifted my hands behind my back, bending my elbows out and relaxing into his chest as he began to increase the speed of his hand, and I dropped my eyes to watch. There was something so tangibly erotic about watching those clever hands work me over, the flexion of those long, slender digits as they dipped into me, curling up and brushing against the textured flesh until I was arching in his grip, fighting to keep my eyes open and focused. The tendons strained against the skin, and I watched the veins in his wrist and arm become more taut as the muscles flexed in a swift, rhythmic pattern against me. As he grazed over one particularly sensitive patch, I jolted and groaned, my eyes slipping shut for a second. The hand around my neck squeezed impossibly tightly for a second, and I saw spots before he relaxed it again. “Keep your eyes open,” he ordered, pausing between each word. “I won’t tell you again.”

“Please,” I choked, and felt his hand shift up in speed.

“Look at you,” he scoffed. “All that backtalk and you’re still begging for it.” I raised my eyes from his hand to his face in the mirror. His eyes were cast down, concentrating on the movement of his hand inside me, watching his fingers work against me, burying inside me until I was rolling my hips. “You take my fingers so beautifully.”

I swallowed against his hand. “I need it,” I whispered, as pitifully as I could manage. “Please.” His eyes lifted to meet mine in the mirror, and he tilted my head away, biting down hard on the flesh of my shoulder.

“Then take it,” he hissed against the raw skin. The man knew how to play my body, and I was singing against him as he worked his thumb faster, building tiny circles, as his fingers curled with more purpose, pressing the sensitive flesh up against the bone with each thrust in, increasing in speed at the same rate his hand was tightening around my throat. I came around a choked moan that had been an attempt at his name as my hips jerked against his slowing hand. He nursed me through the orgasm, drawing it out until I was slumped against him, heaving shallow breaths.

“Did I say you could close your eyes?” My eyes twitched open, and I pushed back against the exhaustion as I raised my gaze to meet his in the mirror. He drew his hand out of me, reaching behind us even as he pulled my legs wider with his. “Oh no. You wanted this, and you’re going to take it.” Like a magic trick, he opened his hand to reveal an empty palm, then suddenly, with a buzz that shocked through the room like lightning he conjured a little blue object out of thin air, and pressed the vibrating bullet to my clit. I damn near squalled as he applied a little more pressure, finding my most sensitive spot with pristine accuracy, using the hand around my throat to pull me back down even as my body arched up and away from the stimulation.

“Jesu...fuck, Spencer!” I sobbed, as my stomach tightened into a familiar knot with a speed that was almost painful. There was no letup, no respite, and he shoved me over the edge again with little more than a blink, wrenching my thighs wider with his knees as I tried to close them. I sobbed brokenly, but he seemed encouraged by this, and trailed the vibrator down, grazing it over the sensitive seam as I came down slightly, only to draw it back up against my overworked clit as I regained my breath.

“Once more,” he murmured in my ear, squeezing his hand to ensure my attention. “You’re doing so well. So beautiful like this.” The little whisper of praise was all I needed, and the knot snapped, releasing all of the tension in a single, all consuming shudder. My soundless sobs were punctuated with his whispers that my brain was too fried to process as he slowly let me down, grazing my throat with the pad of his thumb to gently bring me down. He released his other hand, and I took deeper breaths as he slipped out from behind me, turning me over until I was face down again. My body keenly felt the lack of contact, and it tensed until I felt the weight of his hand smooth over my back.

“Cuffs,” he warned, as he unlocked them. I squeezed my fists as he undid the bracelets, the sensation returned to the sore, twisted muscles, and I let out a pained groan as I flexed my fingers. “Sharp pain or numbness?” he asked quietly, and I shook my head. “Pins and needles?” I nodded, and he pressed his hands against them, rolling the muscles through those clever fingers and encouraging the blood to flow freely again. I flexed them for him again, and he squeezed each fingertip, checking the temperature with characteristic diligence.

Once he was satisfied, he turned me over, the question present in his face. I opened my eyes in an exaggeratedly wide, innocent gaze, hiding the smile as his eyes widened in decidedly non-innocent arousal.

“On your back,” he ordered, and I did so, shifting my hips backwards until I was in the centre of the bed, my legs pressed together, and my hands resting above my head. He crawled over me, knocking my thighs apart and grazing his hand against my wetness. Checking, like he hadn’t just wrung three torturous orgasms out of me.

“Be a good girl, and spread your legs.” I half-obliged, and he wrenched them apart instead, dragging me down the bed and up his thighs until I was flush against his hips.

“Good girls do as they are fucking told,” he hissed, reaching up to grab a fistful of hair and pulling my head back to expose my throat. “But you’re just a needy slut who needs something inside her before she’ll shut up.”

His hips jerked forward and I felt him bottom out in a single, careless thrust.

I jolted against him, head rolling back into the fist he had wrapped around my hair, as I gripped the sheets tightly enough to tear them as he drew out again and then slammed back into me. He held the punishing pace, tugging my hair backwards even as his other hand dragged my hips against his with each slap of skin.

“Was this what you wanted?” he groaned. I couldn’t answer. He was balancing me on the edge of madness, as my spine rolled and arched under him, driving my stomach and ribs upwards even as my hips rolled against his, driving for friction on my already swollen clit.

“Look at you,” he laughed, and his voice was frustratingly even for a man pounding into me with dizzying speed and force. The fucker wasn’t even out of breath, and I dropped my chin to glare at him, even as I let out a cracked groan as the angle changed. “Three orgasms in and you’re still crying out for another.” He hissed as I clenched my stomach, gripping against him and squeezing down until the satisfaction of watching him tremble spread an involuntary smirk at the corners of my open mouth. He made a furious sound, and shoved his fingers into my mouth until I gagged around them.

His upper body leaned forward and my hips, now unsupported by his hands, slid down his thighs and onto the mattress. Using the hand in my hair as leverage, he shoved himself backwards until he was standing beside the bed with my hips draped over the side.

He set a furious rhythm - I could barely force air in around his fingers as he fucked me, slamming against me hard enough to shift me up the bed even as his other hand pressed me back down.

“What, you think you can be bratty while I’m fucking you?” Spencer spat, glaring down. His soft hair was stuck to his forehead with exertion, his lip swollen where he’d been biting back his moans. He hadn’t even touched my clit and I was dancing on the edge, my legs beginning to tremble even as he forced my thigh back towards my stomach to increase the depth of his thrusts.

“That’s it,” he soothed, as my whimpers increased in pitch and volume. “That’s better. Just take it.”

I wasn’t rolling over that easy. I forced myself to release the sheet and slid my hand up and onto my clit, meeting his eyes with a full, defiant smirk even though my voice was little more than a groan. “I will.”

His reaction was instantaneous. The heat bloomed over my cheek as his palm connected, and I bit back a moan as it stung.

I could feel the heat in his fingers as they reached down to wrench my hand away from my clit, pinning it against my throat as he delivered a brutal thrust forward.

“I held you. I gave you three orgasms until you were begging me to stop, and now you want to take another?” he squeezed tighter, and I opened my mouth for a breath. “I uncuffed you because I thought I could trust you to not touch what isn’t yours.”

I sucked in a breath against the unrelenting pressure on my throat.

“But you’re not to be trusted. You’re just a greedy slut who wants more all the time. Take it, little girl. Take it and be grateful I give it to you at all.”

I was too far gone now. I was too strung out for another orgasm, but that had never been the goal.

“Next time,” he hissed, his voice less even now, “I’ll have you begging for it long before I give it to you. So you remember that this,” he punctuated with a bruising thrust that sent an arching moan through my chest, “is earned.”

I felt his hips stutter as he pulled out and came over my chest and stomach, tilting his head back for just long enough to savour the moment, before releasing me with an unceremonious thump as my unwieldy, dizzy limbs slumped to the bed. He stood, stepping away from the bed, disconnecting any contact in our skin.

“No,” I whispered. “No…”

“Sh,” he murmured. “I’ve got you. Stay there.”

I heard him step into the bathroom, and the sound of a tap running as I inched myself up onto my elbows. I shifted uncomfortably against the soreness between my legs, stretching out the thigh he’d pulled up as I closed my eyes and tried to come back down.

I almost jolted off the bed at the sudden feeling of a damp cloth on my stomach. Somewhere between the panting breaths and the pounding headache that had come on, I hadn’t heard him come back to the bed.

He steadied me with a hand on my hip, grounding and gentle, a far cry to the bruising pressure he’d exerted before as he gently cleaned the skin with the warm washcloth, stroking over the marks he’d left with the other hand.

“I should come on these cases more often, if this is part of the decompression,” I smirked, but I couldn’t quite hide the tiredness in my voice as he tossed the washcloth to one side and lifted his hands to my face, tilting my chin to one side and checking my cheek for any sign of damage. It hadn’t been a hard slap, just hard enough to shock my system. In the moment, it had felt incredible, but now I just wanted his hand, exactly where it was, stroking lightly over the reddened skin in small, soothing motions.

He smoothed his hand over my stomach and looked up at me from under his hair. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. “Are you going to go?”

He glanced at the door. “I should.”

I wilted slightly, but chastised myself. We were breaking so many rules already. He saw my shoulders twitch, and I saw anxiety bloom in his expression as he searched my face.

“I’m not dropping,” I said quietly. “It’s just been so long since we slept in the same bed. I miss it.”

His jaw twitched as he chewed it, and then pulled out the covers from underneath me, pulling them over both of us.

“I’ll stay for a while,” he said, scooping me backwards until I was pressed against him, warm, sated, and drifting as his breathing evened behind me.

He was, as promised, gone when I woke up.

**

The air in the police department the following day was...wild. Boise, despite state capitol status, was not used to a serial bomber.

The local media was going wild on the story, and the team had to fight their way into the department building as a frazzled looking Boise PD media rep tried to corral them into concentrating on her press release.

This was a new experience for me. Usually the media had the self preservation to be moving in the opposite direction to the way the bomb squad was going, but this seemed like too much of a juicy story for a sleepy city to pass up.

I tossed my kit down as we finally made it into the crisis room that Boise PD had set up. The room was well adorned with photographs of the devices, but very little in the way of any detailed analysis beside them.

I started on the oldest device, gloving up and picking through the fragments they’d managed to bag up. Irritatingly, they’d carried out controlled activations on the first few devices and I made a noise of annoyance that drew Spencer to my side.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing surreptitiously down.

“I’m fine,” I said, ignoring the look. “They detonated the devices in situ which destroyed most of the key evidence.”

“The first device killed four civilians. The second killed the bomb squad officer trying to defuse it,” he reminded me quietly. “They thought it would be safer to let them go off, rather than risk another officer’s life to defuse it.”

“I know. And the others were controlled activations after evacuation of the area.” I sighed, putting the fragments back down. “It makes knowing how to render the next one safe all that more difficult without whole ones to work on. Photos aren’t enough, especially with a device this...odd.”

“Actually, Morgan has some bomb squad experience,” he said, absently, his attention drifting back to the group. “Maybe he could help you out if you aren’t sure.”

I rankled slightly at the absent-minded insinuation. “I’m sure that this is an exceptionally complex device that has active components designed to detonate while being defused,” I said firmly. “If I say photos aren’t enough, it is because they aren’t enough to be certain that the next one won’t kill me when I’m leaning over it.”

Morgan had come to stand at Reid’s shoulder. The BAU, squaring off. I was only merely mollified when Reid turned to Morgan and pushed him back to the group. We waited for him to go, and I watched him keep a suspicious eye on me.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, quietly. “I phrased it badly. Morgan has some bomb squad experience. I know he’d be happy to work on the device photos with you, or to build a dummy device or whatever it is that he pretends he does when we’re on cases like this.”

I couldn’t help the reluctant smile. “It’s difficult, knowing a lot, and just not enough about the device,” I said, rewarding his apology with honesty. “It makes rendering them just that little bit more risky.”

Hotchner had approached us, file in hand. “We won’t be asking anyone to defuse these devices. It’s simply too dangerous.”

“Then, with respect, sir,” I said, shortly, “why am I here? SSA Morgan has enough bomb squad experience to give you information about the device, and you have no intention of using my technical skills to recover a complete device.”

“We still need a profile,” Hotchner said, matching my short tone with a frown. “Your expertise with devices is useful. Reid?”

Spencer stepped away, and I turned back to the photographs of the second device - the one that had killed the Boise PD officer. These photographs were much more detailed, up close with the live device. It had been discovered under an attorney’s car, and had activated - killing the bomb squad officer who was about to remove the detonator from the explosive.

I glanced over at Spencer, now conferring with the rest of his team. They’d purloined a whiteboard from somewhere and were now building a detailed diagram of potential psychological attributes. That was brain talk. I did bomb talk.

All at once, I could hear the sound of phones ringing in the bullpen behind me, the crackle of radios and a simmer of voices and running feet. The door to the crisis room opened, and a sergeant burst into the room.

“Another bomb,” he said, and paused. “This one’s a vest.”

I lunged for my kit, swinging it over my shoulder as the team grabbed their own jackets.

“On the bright side,” I said cheerfully, as we piled into the vehicle. “At least I’ll get a complete device from this one. Can’t det a vest in situ!”

They looked at me, and all except Morgan seemed startled by my relaxed attitude. Black humour got a bomb squad operator through the day.

“Why would he change the profile so suddenly?” Blake mused. “All the other devices have been exactly the same, and on the same schedule - like clockwork.”

“He’s making basic trigger point detonator, pipe-carried IEDs,” I said. “Detonated by an acid burnout: like a very primitive timer. It’s not a pressure point device, or complex enough to be triggered by remote signal or even an external charge, like an ignition.” Morgan was nodding with me. “If you strap it to a vest and wrap the detonation cords around the body, it becomes a person-borne primitive IED.”

The vehicle lurched to a halt in a shopping plaza that seemed to be in the middle of an evacuation. I could see Boise PD’s bomb squad tooling up from a distance, and I ditched the BAU guys to jog over to them, kit in hand.

“Hey,” I said, sticking out my hand. The squad sergeant looked me up and down, and nodded. “FBI?” he asked.

“Yep,” I replied. “Callie Foster. Counter-IED SABT.”

One of the junior guys looked up at the sound of my name. “You taught my counter VBIED class at Redstone three years ago.”

I nodded at him, not recognising him in the slightest. “Nice to meet you again. I’m gonna take this one, okay?”

The sergeant shrugged. “Sure. You need to borrow any gear?”

“No,” I smiled, pulling out my vest, gloves and grab bag from my kit. “I’m good. Sweep done?” 

“Yeah. You’re going in without a suit?” The sergeant asked, incredulously.

I glanced up at the beating sun, the heat of the day already prickling sweat on brows and nodded. “It’s not gonna make any sort of difference at the range he’s working at anyway.”

I fucking hated the bomb suit. It was bulky, hot, and felt like you were trying to work on a device from inside a football mascot’s costume. It also made it much more difficult to sprint if things went to all hell.

I strapped my helmet on, and walked over to the cordon, ducking under at the nod from the officer in charge. I glanced over at the BAU, who were waiting by the edge of the cordon, watching the figure in the vest with trepidation. I felt their eyes slide over to me, and I chanced a glance at them. Even at distance I could see Spencer’s jaw gritted at the sight of me, tooled and ready. I put him out of my mind, as I turned on the low transmittance radio, and fitted the headset snugly over my ears.

The woman was sitting against the wall of the bank, visibly trembling as I approached. Her hands were bound and her eyes and mouth were gagged with electrical tape, with wires running down the cord and into the vest. The device was the exact same as the one from the photograph, crudely stuck to the front of the vest with the same electrical tape, with wires wrapping over the vest.

“Hi there,” I said, my voice soft and calm. She still flinched at the sound, but I could see the tension she was holding to remain as still as possible. “I’m Callie. I’m not gonna take the tape off until I’ve checked over the bomb, ok?”

She looked at me, and I could see the muscles straining in her neck as she held herself perfectly still.

“Can you relax a little for me?” I asked. She was slippery with sweat, and trembling. I needed her still.

She tried to oblige, but I could feel the terror still rolling off her as I gently checked over the device.

I clicked my transmitter. “Same device. I’m going to remove and render.”

I had to work quickly. Acid pencil detonators were notoriously shit, and I wanted the vest off and the woman clear away.

The wires to the tape were dummy lines. I snipped them but left the tape in place as I gently unhooked the real wires from the vest and set the device down on the ground, cradling the detonator in my hand.

“Run to them,” I told her, nodding at the police cordon. She looked down at the vest I hadn’t removed. “It’s just a vest now,” I explained. “This is the bomb. Go.”

To my relief, she scrambled to her feet and pelted away.

I looked back at the device. Double detonation matrix, same as before. I unhooked the secondary, more volatile, detonator and wrapped insulation around it before repeating the method on the main detonator. I heard the tell tale hiss of the acid, and then the muted pops as it tried to trigger the battery. I clipped the grounding wire and pulled the detonator away just as the battery sparked. A very close call.

“Device secure,” I reported into the radio, peeling open the tubing and whistling as I saw the contents. There was enough stable carrier explosive in here to rip a hole in a truck at thirty feet. But it was, exactly as predicted, a primitive guerilla style IED, Chechnyan-style. What the fuck was it doing in Idaho?

Hotchner’s voice crackled over the low transfer radio, distorted by my headset.

“Say again,” I said. “I..”

The air ripped.


	2. Chapter 2

I was on my back, fifteen feet from where I’d started. 

I could smell smoke, but I couldn’t hear anything over the incessant ringing in my skull. I swore as I rolled over onto my side and tried to prop myself up. 

This made no sense. If the device had activated, I would have been red mist. I was bent directly over it - there would be nothing left of me. 

If it hadn’t activated, what the fuck had?

I looked back at the device I’d pulled off the woman. Incredibly, it was lying exactly where I’d left it, untouched. 

The wall twenty feet behind it had a gaping chunk torn out of it. Secondary. Another device. 

There were hands on me, trying to lay me back down. I pushed them off. 

Spencer’s face loomed in the tunnel. I pushed him away. 

“Get back behind the cordon. Not secure,” I tried to say but my mouth was full of a metallic spit. I tried to clear my throat. 

“They’re carrying out a sweep,” I heard a voice shout. Hotchner? Spencer’s mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I pushed the hand on my shoulder off, and tried to sit up. 

“How did they miss it on the first one?” I tried to say, but my tongue felt like it was three sizes too big for my mouth. 

The hands were still on me, still trying to tug me back down to the ground. “Off,” I snapped, trying to get my feet under me. 

“Stay down,” I heard someone order loudly, and I startled as I recognised the voice. Spencer’s face loomed again, pushing down hard on my shoulder even as his other hand cradled my head to bring me down gently. I ducked my chin, bracing against the dizziness. I swore and squeezed my eyes against the onslaught of light as an EMT tried to check my pupils. 

My mind was racing and wading through treacle simultaneously. It was trying to assess the device, and brace against the pain in my back that was suddenly registering as the adrenaline began to wane. I’d had one activation before, but I’d been moving away at speed - read: running at top speed in the other direction from a device that was going to blow regardless of what I did to it - and the blast had thrown me forward onto hands that were already braced and prepared. This was an entirely new and uncomfortable experience as I lay on the cold ground, the world spinning as the equilibrium in my ears tried to stabilise. I could feel something dripping down my neck, and I touched my ear to confirm. Fuck. Eardrums blown. 

The EMT tilted my head back, and it was enough to send black spots through what remained of my vision. I went, mercifully, into the quiet stillness as the ringing faded to nothing.

**

Hotchner was frowning at me, and I tried to school my sore face into something approaching contrition. 

“You didn’t disclose to me,” he said. “You know how important…”

“I do,” I said, apologetically. “But this is an...early stage of a relationship and we hadn’t really discussed… formalities.” This was not a conversation I wanted to have from a hospital bed with a thumping concussion and almost at a shout so I could hear him. Yes, sir, I regularly fuck your team’s resident nerd in a fairly kinky way to work out some of the insane stresses of our respective jobs. Shall I submit that on the disclosure of interests form or are you happy to do so for me?

He looked at me, and then down at the ground. “Ok. The point is rather moot now, but if we do go out into the field with you again, I would appreciate knowing. If only for a faster reaction in holding Reid back.” 

I smiled guiltily. “Duly noted.” 

The man himself poked his head around the door, looking warily at his unit chief. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Hotchner said, excusing himself as Reid came to sit beside me. 

“What did you tell him?” I asked, curiously. 

Spencer shrugged. “That we’d been going out on a few dates after work.” 

I snorted. “That’s a fairly gentle way of describing it.” 

He shot me a wicked look, with a glint in his eye. “Would you prefer I gave him a detailed play-by-play?” 

I met his move. “Only if you don’t intend on giving me a full replay later.” Spencer’s eyes slid to the wound closures over the cut on my forehead. “Okay, a little bit later than later,” I amended. “Are you any further forward on the case?”

He nodded. “We’re almost certain the first bomb was a trap, and the second was designed to kill the person working on the first. The woman wearing the vest was pulled off the street last night. She’s with a sketch artist now.” 

“I’m not sure how they missed the device in the sweep. The building was inside the cordon - it should have been checked.” 

Spencer frowned. “Who carries out the sweep?” 

I shrugged. “Anyone from the bomb squad - usually a couple of junior members of the team. Physical visual check of the surroundings, metal check, and if you know the chemical signature of the device, you can use a chem tracer.” 

“Could they have missed it?” His voice was urgent now, and my curiosity was piqued.

“If they were careless,” I replied, unsure of his meaning. 

“I need to speak to Hotch,” he told me, halfway out the room already. 

“Ok?” I said, to the empty room. 

Profilers. Honestly. 

I was only alone for a matter of minutes before they burst backp in en masse, accompanied by Morgan. 

“You spoke to the bomb squad team before you went up to the bomb,” Hotchner said, and I nodded. “What did they say to you?”

I closed my eyes as I tried to recall. The concussion had made my memory fuzzy, but I recalled the junior’s recognition of me, and the sergeant’s alarm at my not using a bomb suit. 

“I asked if the sweep was done, and he said yes. He mentioned my not wearing a bomb suit - he was tooling up to go down there.” 

“He was going to defuse the device?” Morgan asked, “the sergeant?”

“He was already in the boots,” I said, shrugging. “I told him I’d take it.” 

Morgan gave Hotchner a pointed look.

“We need to speak to Boise’s bomb squad.” 

“Wait,” I said, pushing up on my hands even as Spencer’s hand settled on my elbow again. “You think it was someone in their bomb squad? One of their guys died!”

“It’s called Hero Syndrome,” Hotchner said, dialling a number on his phone. “A person intentionally creates a dangerous situation in which they can play the saviour. Firefighters set fires, medical staff might deliberately injure their patients so they can resuscitate them…”

I considered this, and then shook my head. “Then why is the device pattern so old? An active bomb squad operator would know how to make a much more modern device than that.” 

“He could be trying to frame someone else,” Spencer piped in. “Or using a deliberately misleading device?” 

Hotchner stepped away from the bed, speaking rapidly into the cellphone. I glanced back at Morgan. 

“What about the second device?”

“It wasn’t acid-fed,” Morgan explained. “It was detonated remotely. We found remnants of a cellphone trigger.”

“Oh,” I said hollowly. “So this was an active attempt to kill me. Ok.” 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked quietly, and I nodded. 

“It’s a little on the nose to think of one bomb tech trying to kill another, but go figure.” 

He moved his thumb over the point of my elbow in comforting circles, and Morgan quirked an amused eyebrow. 

“So all those times you’d bail on us early…” he began, but Spencer shot him a look. He held up his hands and backed off, laughing. 

Hotchner returned to us. “They’re bringing in the whole squad for questioning.” 

“See you later then,” I said by way of farewell, reaching over for the tablet I’d been reading on. Spencer hesitated, as though he wanted to stay, but followed Morgan out with a single glance backwards. Later, his look promised. 

**

It was the quiet one.

Always the quiet ones. 

I hadn’t even noticed him. 

Hotchner was right, it was a ‘classic case of Hero Syndrome,’ as Spencer put it. He’d been overlooked for the glory of defusing devices one time too many, and it had fed a pathological need to be next on scene. The age of the device design was a deliberate red herring to bely his bomb squad experience. The split between devices was to ensure that he’d be on shift when they were located. He’d been bumped onto a different shift, and had brought his timing forward, and had set a secondary trap to kill the squad sergeant who had overlooked him for a promotion. I’d gotten in the way, and he’d decided to wipe me out and try again later. 

I hadn’t been cleared to fly, and the BAU had left Idaho three days after the explosion - leaving me bored out of my ass in a hospital bed and dreading the four day drive across country if I wasn’t cleared to fly soon.

My team had found out what had happened and had kept up a morale-boosting blowing up of my phone with an endless stream of mocking texts. Par for the course. Even Walker had pulled his head out of his ass and sent a robotic get well soon text. 

Spencer...hadn’t. I knew he was a bad texter, but even Hotchner had checked in with me at least once, and Morgan had joined in with my team’s mocking. Once bomb squad, always bomb squad. 

But Spencer had called only once, and we’d had to cut the call short because I still couldn’t hear him properly. I’d hoped for something else, but nothing came. 

Mo, to her infinite credit, had booked me a flight back as soon as the words ‘you can fly…’ crossed my doctor’s lips. I’d ignored the ‘...but I strongly recommend against it.’

I should have listened. I spent the whole flight curled up against the window, trying not to hurl as my head spun in circles - my blown eardrums unable to cope with the pressurised cabin. An anxious looking flight attendant, who knew from the manifest that I was both a federal agent, and carrying, had hovered, moving my seat mate to a different seat, offering to find a doctor onboard as my forehead grew more clammy. I’d waved her off each time, counting down the minutes until we landed. I just had to check my weapon with the TSA, make it to a cab, hold on for the forty minutes it would take to get across town to my apartment and I’d be in my own bed, ready to sleep for the next ninety-six hours. 

I didn’t get that far. He was waiting for me in Arrivals.

Even with the spinning head, and utter exhaustion, I softened at the sight. He cracked a relieved smile when he saw me, and offered an awkward, tentative hug which I gladly accepted, squeezing harder to reassure him that I wasn’t quite as broken as he feared.

“How did you know when I was coming in?” I asked.

“I asked your boss,” Spencer confessed. “She was going to arrange a car for you but I said I’d drive you.”

He was a gentleman, taking my bag from me, even though it probably weighed as much as he did with all my tools on board, and opened the car door for me at both ends of the journey.

“How are you really feeling?” He finally asked once we were back in my apartment. 

“Stiff,” I said, honestly. The painkillers had taken the edge off any sharp pains and I just felt creaky and tired now. 

“You got blown up,” Spencer retorted. “And then we had to leave you on your own in Idaho, I just…” 

There it was. He looked visibly upset at the idea that they’d abandoned me, confused by my apparent stoicism, and frustrated by the idea I was minimising my discomfort. It broke my heart and swelled it in equal measure. 

“Spencer,” I began softly, squeezing his arm until he looked at me. “I’m really ok.”

“You got blown up. In front of me,” he enunciated. 

“Not the first time,” I said, raising a quasi-amused eyebrow. “And probably not the last.” He seemed to stiffen at that, pull away from me. “Spencer, you knew my job when we started this. And I’m very good at it. Like best in the business good.” 

He snorted at my complete lack of humility, and I felt a wash of relief. 

“Wouldn’t that mean you never got blown up?”

“In an ideal world,” I acknowledged. “But not in this one. Sometimes there’s nothing I can do. But most of the time, I’m way better than your amateur with a copy of the Anarchist’s Cookbook. And I really am fine. My ears hurt and I’m stiff, but otherwise, I just need some sleep on a non-plastic mattress.” 

He glanced towards the bedroom, and then at the front door. “Do you want me to go?” 

“No,” I answered, and he seemed startled by the forthright response. I wasn’t entirely sure who he’d dated before me, but I didn’t dance around answers. I went with what I wanted first and always.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured, and I shook my head. 

“You won’t. It’ll be a nice distraction.” He could see the spark behind the look I gave him, but his eyes flickered over the more visible of my injuries - the scrapes from the sidewalk I’d hit at considerable speed, the bruising over my exposed skin. 

“Spencer,” I called, snapping him out of it. “I wouldn’t say it was okay if it wasn’t.” He still seemed hesitant, so I stepped closer, sliding my hands up his arms. “Or… you could just lay back and let me take it…” 

We’d played around with switch dynamics before, and Spencer had been seriously into it. I knew he liked exerting control, he was often afforded so little of it in the rest of his life, but I could tell he enjoyed being thrown around a little too. He offered the tiniest nod to my proposal and I smiled. 

“Go into the bedroom and strip everything except your shirt and underwear, and then lay face down on the bed,” I ordered, and I felt the shudder travel all the way through his body as he scrambled to obey. I slipped into the kitchen and poured out a glass of grape juice. Under normal circumstances, I’d have red wine, but I didn’t fancy the side effects of alcohol and pain meds. It’d do the trick. 

The sight was heady as I slipped into the bedroom, drawing the curtains across the window and pulling out a box from my closet. 

“Colours and safeword,” I reminded him softly, and I watched him nod as I placed the box down beside his hip and straddled the back of his legs. 

“Are you going to be good for me?” I asked, and I felt the full body shiver beneath me as I gently ground down against the back of his thigh.

“Yes ma’am,” he mumbled as I clicked open the box and drew out a length of rope. 

“Good boy,” I praised, lifting his wrists together behind his back and twisting the rope over them, binding them together with a fishtail knot that extended from his upper arms, interlacing over his forearms and ending just above his wrists. “So pretty,” I cooed, lifting up and rolling him over, pulling him up into a sitting position on the side of the bed. My muscles ached sharply with the exertion, and I put away any plans for anything more strenuous. I wanted him to relax, to trust my instincts about how much my body could take. 

“Sit up against the headboard for me,” I murmured and he shifted back, encumbered by the bindings on his hands but eventually using it to brace as his back rested against the soft headboard. I pulled out a soft cloth from the box and crawled up the bed to him. We’d played with blindfolds before - usually on me. He’d been reticent before about using it on him, and had shared the story of what had happened to him in school, but a little trust went a long way. We’ll make blindfolds ours again, I’d promised.

“It’s just me,” I murmured softly, stroking his hair back from his forehead and placing it gently over his eyes. “Colour?” I asked.

“Green,” he gasped. “So so green.” 

I smiled as I tied it off behind his head and then shifted off the bed as I started to undress. I could see him straining to listen, trying to work out my position relative to him. Once I was bare, I slipped over to the bed, trying not to make a sound to indicate my approach. It must have worked, because when I slipped a hand to his shirt, he gasped and bucked forward. 

“Uh uh,” I chastised. He let out a groan as I straddled him again and let him feel the dampness between my thighs against his. I trailed my hand from his shirt buttons up to his throat and squeezed gently. “You’re going to take what you are given, and you will come only when you are told.” I pressed the pads of my fingertips against his jaw and pulled down on his hair with the other. I swallowed the choked moan he let out with pleasure as I ground down on his clothed cock. 

“Please,” he gasped, as my hands trailed down his shirt, unbuttoning painfully slowly, until I could pull it open. 

“I’m not sure you want it badly enough,” I needled, ghosting my fingers over the waistband of his boxers. His cock was jutting against the fabric, pulling the seams taut until I could see the flesh within through the pocket. 

“I need it,” he begged, hitching as I tugged the waistband down to his thighs and sat back, enjoying the pretty picture I’d arranged for myself. “Please,” he begged, his voice cracking. “Please, fuck, please.” The last word devolved into a sob as I grazed a hand over his cock. 

“Tell me what you want,” I soothed, taking a sip from the glass I’d placed on the nightstand, wetting my lips with the sweet liquid. Spencer choked on his words, unable to force it out and I soothed him gently with a gentle hand on his cock. “You want me? My mouth?” I could see he was tempted, but I could also feel how close he was. 

“Ride me, please.” How could I refuse?I set the glass back down, watching as his head twitched towards the noise. I shifted until my heat was over him, and used my hand to guide him into my head as my other fisted in his hair, baring his neck to me so I could nip it as he bottomed out inside me. He let out another strangled groan as I shifted, squeezing down until he bucked up into me. 

I moved my lips until they were brushing against his ear as I tensed my thigh muscles and began a painfully slow rise and fall. “You’re not going to come until I have, so you’d better think of a way to get me off quickly.” I could almost see his brain firing off, trying desperately to work out a way to build me up to orgasm without the use of his hands and already inside me. “Tick-tock.” I hissed. 

He shifted down slightly, using his hips to tip me forward just slightly until my pelvic bone was pressed against his. He used his bound hands as a brace as he began to fuck up into me as his head tilted forward blindly, using his nose to trace down from my collarbone and over my sternum until his lips connected with my nipple. I couldn’t help the very un-Dominant groan as he pulled it into his mouth and sucked, sending a bolt of electricity down my torso and into my groin. I cradled his head to my chest with my free hand, bracing the other on my elbow as I pushed back into his upward thrusts. 

I was close. I hadn’t expected to be, I’d been half tempted to let him come without it - reasoning that my tiredness would make it difficult… but now I was really really really close. 

“That’s it,” I hissed, holding onto control by a thread. “That’s it baby, keep going for me.” He switched breasts, and pulled the areola into his mouth with a deep pressing suck, even as his hips increased the force of their thrusts until I was simply holding myself above him while he fucked up into me. I felt my legs begin to shake as the knot in my stomach began to twist tighter. 

“Please,” he gasped against my breast, nipping slightly as he kept up that forceful upward movement that was making my head spin. 

“Just like that,” I gasped, and I could feel the effort he was exerting keeping his movements the same as I dropped a hand to my clit and pushed myself over the edge with a strangled cry, my muscles contracting and releasing in a wave even as my core clenched down around him. He groaned at the feeling, slowing his thrusts until he was just pulling me through the orgasm. 

When I came back down, I braced myself on my shaky legs and scratched my nails over his scalp, gently brushing his sweaty hair back from his forehead.   
“Good boy,” I murmured softly, tilting my hips until he slid out and relishing in the pained whimper as he did so. “It’s alright. Let’s give you what you need.”

I toyed with the idea of slipping off the blindfold so he could see, but then decided against it. He clearly agreed as he bucked up so fast when he felt my breath ghost over the head of his cock that I had to draw back else I’d have been hit square on by his hipbone. “I don’t want to hear a word,” I warned, sweeping my hair over one shoulder. “But I want to hear that pretty little groan you make when I-“ I dropped my head and drew my tongue from base to slit. He let out the exact groan I was looking for and jolted upwards slightly. “Good boy.”

I wrapped my mouth around the head and swallowed him down, hollowing my cheeks for additional pressure and wrapping my hand around the base. 

“Clo…” he began, and then choked off into a moan, remembering my rule. I could feel the tension against my hand, his balls drawing up as I swirled my tongue over the underside of the head before pulling off with a pop. 

“Come then.” I ordered, swallowing him back down as far as I could reach. His hips flipped up slightly, catching the back of my throat as I reflexively swallowed against the gag. His body stiffened as he stifled and then released a cry as I felt him release into my mouth, his hips jerking uncontrollably as I slipped up to the head and chanced a crafty suck to overstimulate him as I swallowed. He yowled, and jerked up into my mouth as his head fell back. “N-no.” 

“Yellow?” I asked, running my thumb over my hip. He considered it, and then shook his head. 

“Feels good, just, a lot.” I could tell by his heaving breathing he didn’t have much left in him anyway. He was shivering slightly, and I abandoned my plan to drag another out of him without letting him go soft. There’d be time for that in the morning. 

“Sit up,” I ordered softly, helping him with one hand over to the side of the bed as I slit through the rope knot with the cutter from my box and unfurling it from the soft skin. He flexed his fingers as I admired the red marks on his skin for a second, then reached for the cream pot in my nightstand and applying it to the pressure marks. The skin was unbroken but would bruise slightly, and I massaged the cream in with one hand as the other rubbed his stiff shoulders until they could flex forward, relaxing into me as I pressed a soft kiss to his neck. 

“Feeling okay?” I asked, and he nodded. I reached over and flicked off the bedroom light before reaching up to the blindfold tie. “I’ve switched the lights off,” I warned. “But it might take a second to adjust.” 

“Ok,” he replied, and I could hear the heaviness in his voice - the palpable exhaustion that was hitting me too. I undid the knot and drew the cloth off as he blinked at me in the low light peeping through the curtains. I pressed a gentle kiss to his mouth which he reciprocated tiredly. 

“Water?” I asked, but he shook his head, and opened his arms for me to slip back into his lap. My thighs were too tired to oblige so I pushed him down to the bed gently and curled up into him, drawing my hands through his hair as he buried his face in my chest and breathed softly. “How’re you feeling?” 

“Good,” he breathed, his voice slightly muffled by my breasts. “You’re not hurting are you?” 

“No,” I reassured. “I’m good. Just need some sleep.” 

He pushed himself back upwards, and I felt the balance equalise as he pressed a kiss to my jaw, and then a deeper one on my lips that lingered softly. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he murmured. “It just brought it home.”

“My job?” I asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I hadn’t really connected the theory to the practical of watching you defuse a bomb.”

“I looked hot doing it though, right?” 

He snorted. “Very hot. Right until you went flying through the air.” 

“But I still looked hot flying through the air, right?” 

I felt the bubble of laughter that I’d been teasing out of him rumble from his chest. “Yeah. Not so hot with a face full of sidewalk.”

“Ah well. Hotchner said he had to hold you back.”

“He tried,” Spencer preened, looking so ridiculous I had to stifle a laugh. His voice dropped as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “But seriously...that was the most terrifying thing I’d ever seen.” 

“I’m okay,” I reminded him softly. “I’m here now.” 

He nodded, and I could tell he was biting back on the ‘this time’ he wanted to voice. I couldn’t answer that for him. 

All I could do was be here...until I wasn’t. 

Spencer seemed to sense the path my thoughts had drifted down, and pulled me tighter against him. 

“Go to sleep,” he murmured. “I’ve got plans for you in the morning.”

“We’ll see,” I yawned. “First one to wake up wins.”

“See you in the morning then, princess.” 

Bitch please. 

Your lazy ass would sleep in till noon. I’ll see you in the morning, _baby._

I said nothing and closed my eyes with a sly smile. I had plans - big plans for tomorrow. 

fin.

**

**Author's Note:**

> (Also, author of A New Life? I don't know her.  
> Lol jk, it'll be up early this week.)
> 
> As always, please leave comments! It's the only reward we ask for. Also - the more comments, the quicker we go for Part Two!


End file.
